granted by the god above, delusionist programming.

And then she nodded, head bobbing up and down at an insane rate, and you laughed. (Your voice shook while you laughed- why are you so worked up over that, it was just a sentence-) She smiled, and then there was no far-off look in her eyes, no underlying intentions beneath her earnest behavior, her care, and everything was pushed back into place, into a forest that counts as one of your regular tea parties.

---

There's never quite such a dull moment in your line of work- well, you think, lips thinning out as you thought about it more, perhaps there has. Particularly about now, would be a very dull moment. You stare at the very imposing figure that the certain cookie makes, as he sips his own tea carefully, not even chancing a glance at you. His raven colored locks are drifting in the light breeze that crams its way inside of your hosting room, eyes closed as he sips at the tea with a gusto that he'll (probably) have more interest in than you. Which is normal. Fine, really. The only thing that would be better would be that you even weren't here at all, and in your room. Not here, hosting a tea party with the Great King Of the Cacao Kingdom, Dark Cacao. You purse your lips, as you reach over for the teapot. It's still warm- the perfectly brewed Iron Goddess tea simpering in its resting place. You pour it in your teacup, the once cold cup regaining warmth. You let out a soft sigh, eyes narrowing at the cup of tea that warmed your hands. It swished around in the cup, the dark green swirling around in circles. You take another peek at his Majesty- he looks calm. Which is nice. Lovely. Which is also strange, because anyone who's lived in the Kingdom long enough knows that the King is always worried over something, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth always in a straight line, eyes narrowed.

You take a deep breath in- and out it goes.

"Your Majesty," you say, leg bouncing on the carpet, "if I may be enlightened, why did you request a tea party with this Host?"

The King puts his own tea cup down on the saucer on the table, staying silent for a few moments.

He responds in a curt sentence- "My advisor and the First Watcher had recommended me to have a tea party with you. They say that you're quite.. Enjoyable, to be around. I decided to take them up on their recommendation."

You curse Affogato and Caramel Arrow Cookie in your head- oh, you'll absolutely have their heads after this, for making you suffer through this- and try for a reassuring smile.

"Well," you start off, "they are rather incorrect. They are very biased sorts of cookies- perhaps your Majesty knows of what I speak of."

You grit your teeth- they will not be having any sort of body when you see them again, that is for sure, how dare they betray you like this, your two most trusted friends- and reclined back in your Grand Throne. (Given the nickname from Caramel Arrow Cookie affectionately, and used by Affogato Cookie to poke fun at you. It's a regular chair- which is very comfy to fall asleep in and pass out for a few hours in.)

"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, you needn't put up with this because Caramel Arrow and Affogato recommended me." The King raises a single eyebrow, mouth set back into the straight line that's famous all over the taverns and rowdy restaurants. He also, for some reason, relaxed into his own chair, leg crossed over the other. A very regal looking King if there ever was one. (And good-looking, you think, hiding a very quiet giggle behind a cleverly placed hand. The songs aren't wrong about the King's rugged handsomeness.)

He's quiet for some more moments, before plucking his tea cup up from his saucer. ".. You're not quite so bad company, Entertainer. They have reason to recommend you."

You're pretty sure you could try and argue whether you're a good host or not, but you're pretty sure from how the rumors go (and gossip heard from all your guests at your tea parties) that the Great King Of the Dark Cacao Kingdom isn't exactly good at conversation. So you drop the subject, and simply sip at your tea.

"Perhaps your Majesty would allow me to know what sorts of things he enjoys so that I may prepare better."

You absolutely could have done better with a warning advance, than the sudden way you saw him already in the room, sitting there and looking at the floor like it's committed a major slight to him. (And also to avoid the way how your body officially stopped for a few seconds, in pure shock.) And the King himself lets out a sigh- although it's not out of annoyance. (You hope that it's not out of annoyance.)

"..I enjoy hunting. I train diligently."

Is it. Is it acceptable to poke fun at the King? You mull over the question furiously, and swallow down your worrying thoughts. Because, in a way, that isn't supposed to be funny and was just accurate and provides a view into what the King enjoys, but in another way, it's kinda funny. Kinda. Perhaps, because it makes you chuckle at how the King of the Great Dark Cacao Kingdom only has two hobbies. You decided to forge on and continue onwards- and you let out a soft laugh.

"Your Majesty," you say, trying to contain the giggles that escape you, "that's very much only two hobbies. Do you not have anything else that interests you?"

The King looks off put at your laughter, eyebrows furrowing.

"I don't see why you laugh so, Entertainer." Ah. You say goodbye to your job.

You still laugh despite it, eyes crinkling. "Your Majesty, if I may act so crude and suggest something, perhaps we should get you some more hobbies."

At this, he looks even more confused. "..Like what?"

You slink back even further in your chair, deciding to go even more improper, propriety be damned. You cross your own legs, shoulders slack. "Chess would be a start. Any sort of board games- have you any interest in literature? Perhaps drawing would work."

The King stares at you for a few good seconds, before rolling his eyes. (You're absolutely sure that he didn't roll his eyes, but there's a thought in your head that says yes, he did.)

"...I do have an interest in literature, yes."

You clap your hands together- that's one way to start off, you suppose. "Wonderful!"

You launch off into a tirade, saying very many things about books with plots he might find interesting, about a warrior and his journey, mythology, and the King himself stays quiet. He adds a few of his opinions in there- not booming nor loud, just so clear and straight, despite the quietness of his voice- "That book wasn't a quite good read, or however way you speak of it, like it deserves every praise."

You stop yourself, eyebrow raising. "Oh? And why is that, your Majesty?"

The King finally looks at peace- or something that isn't anger or tiredness- as he responds.

"The way in which the main protagonist swung his swords were all wrong- if you were to try that, you'd find yourself covered in your own jam." You hum- "Perhaps so, but most people read stories for plot."

He rolled his eyes again (AGAIN, you're sure that that was a fluke and absolutely not real in any way possible, despite the feeling that paws at you saying, "yes, it's real!") and responded.

"The plot itself was nonsensical. The journey was simply an excuse for the main protagonist to end up with any cookie that would have him."

You were getting somewhere, you suppose. Perhaps Caramel Arrow and Affogato Cookie get to keep their lives for another day.

---

It becomes a very strange occurrence, for hosting tea parties with the King himself. (Not to mention the First Watcher and the King's advisor.) See, another strange thing you've realized about the King is that he's... Extremely awkward. His entire aura always gives off the vibe of 'do not interact with me or you'll cry' except it's really more so that the King doesn't quite know how to respond to social cues. Years of focusing on training and how to fight does that to you, you think. But it's not hard, in another sort of way, to get him to talk more easily. It's either A. you make an absolutely heinous mistake about some form of fighting that he somehow knows how to fight in despite it being a lost to time and no longer practiced to the point that you're doubting him, and no, this absolutely is not a personal experience, of course not. Or B. he doesn't talk at all, and leaves you to just rant about all of the cookies you have to host. You remembered Affogato getting upset at the fact that the King of the Dark Cacao Kingdom is a better friend to gossip with about various sorts of cookies.

You had initially expected him to not be interested in that sort of stuff, but every King needs their own share of gossip and rumors every now and then, you muse. It's not like he talks or makes any sorts of opinions on it- he just leaves you to rant about what a certain cookie had done during one of your hosting parties.

"And then," you had recalled yourself saying, talking like a shark out for jam, "that weasel had the audacity to insult my tea-making skills! I'm the one who hosted the entire thing- at least be respectful! Utterly incorrigible, that cookie is."

The King himself nodded. Honestly, you have no idea how everyone in the palace is so scared of him. He quite literally said the other day that he has no idea how to laugh and apologized for it. He simply responded in a rather ominous manner- "I'll see to it that something will be done about it."

You remembered shrugging- "It's fine, your Majesty, however much of a rat that cookie is, I can handle. The weasel just won't be getting invited into any illustrious events held by the one-and-only Host!"

The King had narrowed his eyes. "..Refer to me using my name, instead of a title." You widen your eyes at that and let out a hm.

"If that's what your- I mean, what you wish for, Dark Cacao." You say it easily, like you've said it for your entire life. It rolls off your tongue easily, not being stuck or trapped there. You disregard that realization, and simply sip at your tea.

He nods accordingly, eyes softening. "..What was that one story of yours? About that cookie who ran out of your event?"

You had brightened up- "I swear to you I have the entirety of the divorce papers, Dark Cacao. I am not lying when I say that this ends in somecookie getting- well, perhaps acting in a very dishonourable way. It's sad, too, because I knew his wife personally and the poor cookie was all crying-"

----

Sometimes, you realize that more people have distanced themselves from you. It's not your closest friends- Affogato and Caramel Arrow Cookie don't even notice when they come by, the former smiles snidely at that, says something that they finally have recognized that they don't deserve to be around with you, while Caramel had shrugged, uncaring. They never distance themselves from you- if anything, they seem to grow more clingier now that you don't have as much hosting duties. Affogato walks around an empty palace with you, goading you into letting you spill the latest rumors. Caramel Arrow Cookie simply tugs you around like always, carrying you like one would a bride around, jumping from wall to wall, grinning at you as you laughed and giggled.

And it's still strange, even if you push the realization out of the way. Affogato always has more and more comments, now, about the few that still do hang out with you- "Are you positively sure that they're good? If you were to ask me, darling, they seem absolutely unfit to be a friend of yours." Caramel Arrow Cookie simply gives a glare and her best bow to anyone that tries starting a conversation- "My apologies, my fellow cookie, but they have matters I need them to attend to rather urgently."

And you ignore that because, well, maybe they aren't that good for you like Affogato had pointed out, snidely whispering in your ear, and you did have stuff to do with Caramel at the moment. It's weird, and you know that it is, because you can take care of yourself, and you know that you're not some royal in need of saving like those fairy tales- But you sigh, and you ignore it.

It's alright, you think, as you sip at your tea.

Dark Cacao is still nice to hang out with, even if he is the literal King. He looks more comfortable with you, at the very least. You ignore the gazes that seem to follow the both of you everywhere, whenever he tries to take you out in the forest for a hunt, or even for a simple picnic. (You ignore the glares from him too, directed right back at them, his steps becoming more sure of themselves, banging throughout the castle.)

And maybe, you think, you shouldn't have ignored that feeling when it bubbled to the surface first, when you heard that one sentence by Caramel the first time. Or perhaps it was more than the first time- perhaps it was the third. The fourth, the sixth. Perhaps it was even more than that, and you ignored it like it was the only thing you could do.

Perhaps, you think, you shouldn't think of it anymore.

---

If you were to describe the feeling of a hazy dream gone sick, fraught with agony and torture, you would have said that you're unsure. That you don't know. But you do. You know it like the feeling of doubt, guilt, know it like the feeling of being all alone and drowning- the feeling of something suffocating you. You think that it would have been more apt to call such a dream a nightmare- because is it no? Aren't nightmares just dreams that have gone sick, you wonder.

Perhaps not- because this is real. Real like the sinking feeling that churns inside of your dough body, real like the feeling of helplessness that hangs in the air. Dark Cacao sits in his throne, the court around him whispering loudly- he looks like the King, he looks regal and important and everything that is expected of him, and he does not look like the friend you've come to know. He does not look like he knows how to smile, he does not look like the cookie who you had gossiped with over tea, he does not look like someone you'd ever talk with so casually. Affogato Cookie is at the forefront- a sugary-sweet voice on the advisor, lips moving fast. Caramel is at Dark Cacao's side, the First Watcher ever so watching over everyone with narrowed eyes. The court does not assemble for small matters- the court of the Great Kingdom of Dark Cacao assembles for larger things. Larger than your job occupation, anyways.

So you stare, tucked in your little corner of the vast courtroom, hands clenched tight together.

It's the same cookie that you remember ragging on you for your tea. It's the same cookie that stands in front of a courtroom, whispers and glares and snickering abound. It's the same cookie who you didn't think about seriously other than some petty rage. It's the same cookie who looks like they'll lose everything.

Affogato continues on with his little speech, making little hand gestures. He fishes out a series of documents out of clothes- the fine black print on it makes you wince at it, trying to look closer. He points at the cookie, and smiles (and it is a smile full of bitterness, full of the concealed feeling that is anger), and he strains out each word, announcing his sentence to the court.

Caramel Arrow Cookie does not step in- she simply watches. Her hands on her horned bows, back and posture straight to the point that she looks more akin to a statue.

"You have been revealed to have been stealing from the Royal Coppers themselves- have you anything to say about that, hm? And it's been going on since the first party the Entertainer had held? How horrible."

He says it sweetly. Says it like that it was the greatest crime that anyone in the Kingdom has ever done. Says it like ice cream itself drips from each word, voice sonorous.

Dark Cacao looks on with a steel eye, mouth set in a straight line as he waits for Affogato to finish.

Affogato simply stares at the grovelling cookie, who sobs and sobs, crying, "I didn't do anything of the sort! Never, never would I do that to the great Kingdom of Dark Cacao-"

And Affogato simply huffs. "Still on about that? There's almost a strong mountain of evidence already mounted against you- your pitiful attempts to fool the court will do no good, you know."

He turns to Dark Cacao for his judgement- and Dark Cacao stares at the entire court, silencing it with all of its gossip and rumors with a single raised hand. He holds it for only a moment, as he tilts his head higher, hair swishing to the side.

"Take them to the Dungeon, First Watcher."

Caramel Arrow Cookie nods- and you swear that there's a hint of happiness in her eyes, you swear- and replies with an almost frighteningly calm tone of: "Yes, your Majesty." She walks over to the cookie, ponytail bouncing up and down, and it's only a simple matter of dragging the cookie out. They struggle- they plead out with cries of mercy, mercy, and for a swift moment, they lock eyes with you. Something churns and churns and screeches inside of you- it yells and it bangs on your chest like a live cakehound, it growls and hisses and begs for freedom and you ignore it like a lifeline. You swallow down your guilt and turn away- and something in their gaze goes fierce, because they thrash even harder in Caramel's grip, screeching. Caramel almost shoves the cookie to the ground, eyes glaring.

She whispers something, something so quiet that you don't hear, and the cookie stops. They go slack- they go dead, like a fish that has been set in land. Caramel continues her journey of dragging someone to the Dungeon, leaving the courtroom without much fuss. Each member of the court soon filed out- each whispering and gossiping like it'd be the star of each week after. Affogato simply walks out of another door, joined by Dark Cacao. You stare at them pass, before placing a leg out on the empty courtroom.

You peek out from your corner, dusting off your robe. You stare at the ground- no, what you stare at is the specific trail Caramel had dragged the cookie out. Something gleams in the middle of the floor, shining horribly bright in this freezing Kingdom. You walk closer to it, eyes widening in surprise- a fallen off topping. It's cheap looking, if said in the most basic way. It doesn't look like somecookie would have bought it if they had stolen money for as long as they had from the Royal Coppers. You glance around, before plucking it from the ground.

It's normal. It's not eye-catching. It does not suit the cookie, doesn't suit the image you've made up in your mind about them.

—

You bite at your lips, hands trembling. They reach out for documents- reach out for a scroll clearly inked lately, letting out a stuttery sigh. You raise your head up- there's no one here, no one in the study. You steady yourself.

Affogato Cookie won't be back in a few hours. Caramel Arrow Cookie is busy at the border, searching for a snow lion that was recently spotted. Or so the tip had gone, when you had written the note and dropped it off at the Watcher's Quarters. All the maids and servants aren't here, won't be here for any time- Affogato doesn't enjoy them cleaning his room, even if he says that he has nothing to hide- and there's no guards. There's only you, a trusted cookie in the castle, hanging around in a politician's room. You grit your teeth- and finally grab the scroll. You look around, like a mouse, eyes narrowing. You leave the room quietly, shuffling about as you click the door closed, sighing softly.

You step back out in the hallway, wanting to run. You don't. You trace your hand along the wall, looking at the paintings that decorated almost each turn you made. You never noticed before- well. You did. You just never thought of how absolutely intimidating they are, never thought that they were for anything that wasn't used for decoration. There are paintings of landscapes, each splash of paint on the canvas like it was being ridiculed, as snow falls on a painted version of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. You stare at it for a few moments, and feel your hands tighten around the scroll.

The walk there is long. Long, back to your room. You'd usually be talking with Caramel or Affogato on the way back- ignoring their remarks about the other if together, enjoying their company if it was only one of them. Except there's no critiques or veiled insults or enjoyable stories and gossip. There's only you, a scroll in hand, walking down a long hallway.

—

Perhaps the mystery of all cookie life is that it's best to ignore it. Easy. Nobody ever really thinks more about the Witches- the godly creators and whatnot, and worship them devoutly- because who wants to? Who wants to know so much about a subject so holy intimately? To know the secret of being made- well, you supposed, it'd be a one way ticket to blowing your mind. You've never entertained the question yourself- merely ever nodding thoughtfully when Affogato himself, eyes glazed over and staring at the mirror, asked you very softly. Didn't ask you in his usual tone, didn't say anything about a missing scroll. He'd said softly, "what do you think about the Witches?"

And you had hummed, nodding- "They exist."

And Affogato Cookie had simply stared at you, before his lips curved up into a smile. There was a familiar glint of teasing, of satisfaction, in it.

Perhaps the same way could be applied in what you think now. Fumbling with a topping in your hand, eyes scanning over each word colored in a chocolate brown. It makes sense. It doesn't. It's strange, you think, as you gulp down every beat of anxiety that pours into you. The candle by your bed flickers a flame akin to a volcano's- red, fiery, and burning hot. It should make sense. It does. There are several people reporting about this cookie lying on the papers- a chest suddenly full of gold coins coinciding with the date that the coppers were suddenly being stolen from. All kept under wraps, tightened with a little bow. Except it doesn't.

Perhaps you're assuming- a grand assumption on your part, thinking that surely, someone, would have gotten better toppings than this if they had stolen this much coins. But it doesn't look right. They were lower ranked. Extremely so, to the point that they'd have probably never gotten to see the coppers in their entire lifetime. They were only ever invited because they were new. They could have made connections there. That was the only reason you ever invite new people- per your own job to build connections on behalf of the Kingdom, and let cookies gather to drink tea and berry juice to discuss rumors, business, gossip about the King and the ever charming Prince.

There's a splattering of details- mostly small. Insignificant. Indicates what time they had started stealing. Except. Except, it's strange, you think, because if it was from earlier back, back to your very first party thrown, there would have been dates. The investigators aren't stupid- they know how to do their job. It can't disappear like that- sudden papers from before are no longer found.

Perhaps it was a mistake. (But you know that it's not.)

It feels weird. It's only a tiny bit of false evidence to go off- assuming first that it is indeed false, and not real- and there's nothing bigger. They would still have reason to throw the cookie in the dungeon if they had stolen coins.

It doesn't add up. You remember the way Affogato had sneered at the cookie, eyes in disgust as he dug at them. You remember it clearly, remember it like the feeling of something striking at your chest, felling you in one blow. There would be more instances. More papers. More time. More witnesses, more sightings if the cookie was truly as careless as the scroll had said.

But there is not. There is only a date that begins on your 12th- or perhaps it was more- tea party with the King. You notice it- notice it because it was when Dark Cacao had asked you to refer to him by name. But there's no other instance before- no dates, no time. And then a memory flashes behind your eyes- and it makes you tremble, because, wouldn't someone have dealt with it by now?

"I'll see to it that something will be done about it."

It rings in your head. It does not add up. It doesn't- you shouldn't assume anymore, should have kept that memory buried deep in your conscience. It burns alive once more like a fury from an oven, burning bright in your mind. Imprinted. Burned into it like all the other times that same sort of time was used on you- scarily ominous. It was a terrifying sort of tone, one that anyone would have thought better to ignore. There's another traitorous voice in the back of your head- The King isn't one to say such things foolishly, he surely would have done something, right?

You stomp it down. Stomp it down with a boot that is particularly intent on crushing bugs.

—

You handle a scroll that is either the truth or full of lies carelessly. You trace a finger across it, eyes narrowing in on the official seal of it. You place it down, slip it inside your robe, and stare at the tea brewed so recently. It's still warm.

You pick it up, and sip at the tea. It's warm. It tastes like nothing, because your own chest is full of feelings that churn like spoiled milk inside. You stare at the door that creaks open, stares at the King in his more comfortable attire, cape still trailing behind him. You smile weakly at him, wanting to duck in your chair. The fireplace burns bright still- it warms the room. Bubbling flour bumps up from your body, feeling the feeling of anxiety pour all over you. Dark Cacao nods at you- and he settles down into the seat in front of yours, as he picks up a tea cup and simply drinks it.

There's not really any sort of conversation. It reminds you of your first tea party with him, all quiet before erupting into a topic finally. Although the one you're intent on bringing up is sour. Bitter. Full of everything gone bad.

You take a breath in.

"Dark Cacao," you start off, voice full of barely concealed stutters, "I got a scroll, recently, from Affogato Cookie. It was, erm, about the recent court decision. If you would-"

You finish yourself off, before even finishing your sentence, hands trembling.

You peek at the King in front of you. His eyebrows are furrowed. Mouth clenched. You take in a breath.

"If your Majesty could, may he explain why there are no dates earlier? Affogato himself had said it was farther back when the entire thing had started, my first ever party thrown, but there was no evidence or times indicating when."

Dark Cacao narrowed his eyes. He placed his own teacup down, locks of hair brushing in front of his face. He removes it mindlessly, like it was an action that he did the entirety of his life. It probably was.

Please say that the investigators were incompetent. Please say that the scroll was a fake. Please say that I have nothing to worry about. Say that I don't need to-

"Entertainer." His voice is sharp, like a dagger. He doesn't use your actual name, like he had done before. He uses your title.

"You have no need to be searching for answers such as these. As your King, I order you to stop." His voice is regal. Full of fierceness, full of words used to command soldiers to battle.

You grip your robe, and absentmindedly brush past the scroll in it. Something inside of you screeches- mindless movement, being dragged away, being grabbed and suffocated- and you open your mouth again. Something reminds you of Caramel, for a strange reason.

Reminds you of the way she has said so seriously, full of no hesitation, full of something underneath the sentence that she'd always watch over you. Reminds you of the way Affogato had sneered at the way the maids and servants had brushed past you, the way he had said it like it was a truth: you don't need them. And then it reminds you of the way Dark Cacao had said the very sentence that makes you want to scream.

I'll see to it that something will be done about it.

"What did you do to the cookie, your Majesty? For slighting me."

And then Dark Cacao stares at you, eyes colored a deep shade of purple, and you stare back.

And then there is a hazy figure of someone right near you- using Affogato's voice, humming something sweet.

"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, perhaps you ought to have cancelled this party when I told you myself that the scroll had gone missing."

You make a soft 'oh' sound in your throat, slumping back against the chair. There's only a soft shade of browns and purples and black clashing together, making your eyes haze over.

Someone- someone who has a long ponytail like Caramel's- says something.

"Y/N! Why didn't you do something else that didn't-"

And then everything just stops in that single moment, and you close your eyes.

You should have just left it alone.